Children of Giants
by Ann-Stripes
Summary: Simon reacts badly to the content of the mortal cup. Oneshot.


welp this was fucking embarrassing to write

had to get it out of my system though

(I don't have a beta reader btw. Forgive me if i make some mistakes and I'm pretty sure I did make some. At least in the biblical part. I'll also probably rewrite this when that side story from Simon comes out.)

* * *

><p><strong><em>Children of Giants<em>**

He had prepared himself for it. He had trained for weeks, studied for months, and put up with the annoying insults till the end. He knew what was coming at the initiation. Clary and him had run over it time and time again, her warning about the excruciating pain that would surely come and him tasting fluids that were almost as horrible as what would be served in the mortal cup. That way he wouldn't hurl right on the spot in front of the higher order of Shadowhunters.

He hadn't been prepared in the least.

His hands were sweaty so he clamped them shut and forced them to be still. No way he was going to make himself smaller in front of his spectators. They already glared at him like a museum piece, probably because not many humans ascended and so not many Shadowhunter had ever witnessed it. Plus, the stories that did rounds about the ceremony could get out of control. They were all awaiting what would happen.

Their words droned like a chant through a cathedral, heavy and unintelligible. The steps he took to the altar were small but sure. He wouldn't waver or stutter in the circle. When they stopped with singing he stood before them on the altar. Robert Lightwood, the Inquisitor as well as the father of Isabelle and Alec he had learned, began to speak.

He knew Clary was looking, but he couldn't look back or else the Clave deemed him to not be serious enough for ascension. He either had to look at the Inquisitor, or straight forwards over the heads of the public.

And he _was_ serious. This was his moment, his only chance to get back the lost memories and fill in the black holes in his mind. He would remember them again: Clary, Isabelle, Jace (unfortunately), the Lightwoods, the vampires, the werewolves, the true forms of the waitresses from Taki's and the talking trees in Brooklyn park who talked back to the selkies in the river that Clary loved to talk about, the reason why his mom sometimes looked at him funny...

The new Inquisitor told him to step forwards and he did. Back at the Institution they had taught him how to stand at the ascension; stance wide, arms folded behind his back, head lifted in pride. Now, the pride part he didn't have down, but the stance did make him feel more comfortable and ready. He couldn't help but smile a little.

The Inquisitor told him the lines and he repeated his from days of memorizing. After not having spoken for hours, his throat felt dry and the words came out not as good as he would have liked. He could really use a sip of the mortal cup about now. It even beckoned before him on the pedestal with its patient inanimate stance, as if it were waiting for him to drink from it. "_Come on, drink me_." the almost glowing gold on the rim seemed to say, although the blood within it didn't look as appealing. Whose _blood_ even was this? "_It's taken the Inquisitor enough time_."

And when he finally gave his okay, he could.

He was within the cup's grasp in two quick steps, grasping it impatiently and holding it to himself with both his hands, too heavy and awkward to hold with one. He looked into the dark reflection in the blood and suddenly wasn't as sure about this anymore, knowing all the things the blood could possibly do to him. No. It was too late to turn his back to it now, too early to stop before it could become an adventure. _Please don't make a face, _he told himself.

"Drink, Shadowhunter, and ascend to heavenly domain," were the last words the Inquisitor spoke before Simon took the cup to his lips and, indeed, arose to heaven.

* * *

><p>Funny thing about Shadowhunters is that they never stop growing. Not that they would come far, seeing as the lifespan of the average Shadowhunter is around the forty. But, if they could outlive their entire life, every single one of them would be over solid 9 feet tall.<p>

You'd think with the blood of the angel strengthening their veins they could stretch out a bit more than just their height. Isabelle, for example, having trained as a Shadowhunter since the moment she could walk, was a solid feet taller than Clary. Not that this said much. Clary already was a bit short in size.

Well, she was about to get even smaller in comparison.

* * *

><p>The pain was not immediate, and Simon wasn't thinking of something else happening besides the audience cheering while his face was processing the foul taste of the blood.<p>

He was prepared for pain, but not this. His body was bursting as the blood coursed through his insides and his veins. Needles pressed into his legs and he couldn't do anything besides falling to his knees and buckling over, the cup forgotten and falling out of his hands. He pressed his hands around his belly to stop whatever the liquid was doing to his body, but it was not enough as his spine, skull, and even the bones in his elbow felt like they were shifting out and away from his skin. His legs he couldn't even feel anymore.

He clasped his hands and dug his nails in his palm, not nearly enough to distract himself from the pain. Everything was a haze as his view began to blur, and the muscles in his jaw didn't know what to do anymore so he stared into the crowd with a numb gazing. There was a rumoring among them. _Is this how it usually goes? He looks really in pain. I had no idea... _He looked away from them. This was too embarrassing. Get me away from here I don't want to do this anymore. He clawed franticly at his blouse, ripping the buttons from their place and the soft cotton open. The blouse Jace had lend him for this occasion to look proper and like a real Shadowhunter. What a joke what a joke what a joke.

Behind him the Inquisitor droned that this is how it goes and that there is no need to worry and that he would stand up soon enough. But Simon didn't feel like standing up. He felt like puking and he had the urge to snarl at the woman. What the hell did she know? There came raspy huffs from his throat as he tried and clawed his way through his blouse to his body, scratching himself open as if to release the pain within. His hands were bloodied and he was sure a nail chipped of on one. Thorns and needles pricked like a path through his skin, over his aching neck and over the muscles of his arms and lower back and his thighs. Soon, the huffs turned into silent screams, begging for the sweet release in words without a sound.

Then, just like it had come, the pain spread out in a sudden numbing sensation, weakening him and sprawling him over the ground.

White noise before his eyes, white noise in his eardrums, white noise in his skin. He was floating in the metaphorical sense. No longer could he hear the gasps and murmurs of the crowd, and he forgot Clary's worried face. It belonged below him now, far away from where he was going. He was vaguely aware that he was moving and he let himself being carried away, floating up and up and up like drifting in water until it came to a stop. He wanted to frown at this, but wasn't sure if he could anymore. A low voice spoke over the noise, instructing him to remain his consciousness. Oh, he wasn't dead?

The floating feeling stopped and the numbness in his veins lessened as he slowly opened his eyes.

The noise in his head gradually turned into the screams of the people below.

A jolt went through him as he saw what was beneath him.

He found himself crouching in a very awkward position while very naked and, most importantly, very tall.

The shock of it made him hit his head on the mosaic windows in the ceiling. A rain of colored glass fell down on him and the stage when he broke it, the people below panicking even more while backing away from the giant.

Simon whimpered in surprise, letting out apologies and curse words. He shielded his big hands -still covered in blood, albeit a bit less - over his head to protect himself against the remaining glass, all the while trying to cover up his embarrassingly naked crown jewels.

"Somebody please help me," he whispered, but it came out more like a roar. His eyes went frantically over the heads of the crowd, now having a distance between them he could easily cover with one shuffle of his feet.

Beneath him a tiny figure came forwards. Only through her bright hair could Simon recognize who she was. He had to cross his eyes near the point of dizziness to see her clearly. "Simon!" She yelled over the silencing murmurs of the crowd. Very carefully he leaned forwards, closing the distance between the girl and him. She was barely half the size of his head and, to his horror, the found himself thinking she could fit perfectly in his mouth.

He didn't want to answer Clary, afraid that his voice would deafen her only by whispering.

Another figure came running and it took Simon a second to realize it was Jace. But Jace, unlike Clary, wielded a weapon half the size he was, and looked dead set on doing something to him.

He gave a yelp and rose up, almost banging his head against t the ceiling again. Only this time his head reached partially through the windows instead of clashing with the glass.

He had to get away from here. These were Shadowhunters, made to kill things like him. He sunk to the glass splintered floor again and shoved Jace away with a strength that was unfamiliar to him. Jace was flung through the air and tumbled over the marble ground of the cathedral, and picked up by the other Shadowhunters. Clary yelled at him. "Stop, Simon! You're too big!"

No shit he was too big. He slumped against the wall of the altar, hoping it would sustain his weight, and swung his giant arms around his giant legs. To calm himself he took heavy breaths in and out, although even that was too much of a movement as Clary trembled in the wind he created. He held one hand to his head, but in confinement. The room had looked so spacious when he had first waltzed in, but now he could barely spread his elbows. His knees started to hurt from the uncomfortable leaning position they were in.

The crowd was churning with surprise and undetermined course of action. Most of them held their stele's before them in protection, like he could go haywire any moment. But, seeing as that wasn't likely to happen soon, they stood there hesitantly. People were scared and wary of him, just like they when he was a vampire.

Clary moved through the winds he accidently created until she could take a hold of his big toe. He had to move his leg forwards to see her and the sudden shift of his feet slipping from beneath him made Clary jump to the side in surprise. He let out a quick and soft "sorry".

One arm he hung over his hips and the other limp beside him. Clary hushed comforting inconceivable words to him and pressed herself against the nail of his right thumb.

The room was filled with complaints of the Shadowhunters, warning her to be careful and to not come too close. He was unpredictable and might not be the same anymore.

Now that he wasn't as close to her as before, he could see her a bit clearly. Not that this was any better, he didn't like that he could see every worry written on her face or the way she clasped her hands to his finger as if she could reassure him it would be all fine again in time. He bit his lip.

How could this happen to him? He had never heard or read about humans turning into giants. Hell, he hadn't even _read_ about any giants that weren't demons. Maybe it had something to do with his memory loss. Maybe the blood reacted wrong on his body because he technically _had _alreadybeen part of this world. Maybe the demon hadn't taken away all of the bad blood. A sadder thought stuck with him: maybe he just wasn't ment to be a Shadowhunter. Maybe he should have learned from same mistake he had made before and should have kept away from all of this before something like it repeated itself.

Clary stepped on his hand in the way so many fairies did on a human hands in the movies and cartoons. Too tiny and too fragile in comparison with the giant. He could find playing out a scene from a kid's movie odly hilarious if it wasn't for the dread that came with it.

He brought her to his face, careful not to shake her when he moved. "What the hell is happening to me, Clary?" He whispered.

No gust of wind reached her hard, fortunately. Only enough to move her heavy curls a bit; He was sure to be quiet.

"I don't know," she said gentler than before. "But I promise we'll figure it out together, whatever this is."


End file.
